


Sometimes Bad Guys...

by cosette141



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eliot Spencer Whump, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past, Pre-Canon, Protective Eliot Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosette141/pseuds/cosette141
Summary: On a brisk night in Amsterdam ten years before the Leverage crew formed, Eliot Spencer - freshly ex-right hand man of Damien Moreau - stumbles into helping an injured thief. But quickly he wonders who really saved whom. (Past Eliot and Parker AU)
Relationships: Parker & Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Eliot cursed as he ran, one leg smarting and the other _throbbing_.

He hated this.

Dammit, _hated_ this.

Leaving Moreau was something he had to do--something that was a long time coming, and he took his sweet time getting there--but this was one of the roughest patches he’s ever lived. Turning freelance after being Damien Moreau’s right hand man wasn’t exactly smiled upon.

He was-- _he thought_ \--far enough away from Moreau and his biggest factions when he tried to take a job. But that job just happened to be a set up of one of Moreau’s biggest supporters. Supporters who weren’t exactly fond of him.

But he’d gotten a lucky break.

Halfway through the chase, the thugs that really should have been able to catch up to him heard a crash from a few floors above, and took off for it, thinking Eliot had gone that way. For whatever reason, luck or God was back on Eliot’s side, and he didn’t bother asking why and took the miracle.

Eliot ran down the hallway of the basement, finding what he was looking for; a heavy metal door that led to the street. Eliot staggered, feeling the pain in his thigh scream at him, but he couldn’t stop to catalogue the lucky punches and kicks that the--now dead--men who’d been sent to kill him had gotten in.

But as footsteps pounded on some upper level of the building, Eliot felt the fear tighten his chest because _he can’t run forever_ and he kicked on the door.

Cool Amsterdam wind tore through his long hair, and he pulled himself out into the dark.

He hesitated there, back against the cold metal of the door, breathing hard. 

He shut his eyes.

_Maybe…_

_Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they caught him_.

He was so tired of running. From his old home life, from the bloodstained one he just left, from _himself_. Maybe there wasn’t even enough left of him--the _good_ him--to even _bother_ looking for.

_Maybe..._

But a shout from a window tore his eyes open.

“Hey!”

The shout came from one of the men who’d been chasing him. Eliot looked up to see against the moonlight, the man chasing him leaned out a window. But as Eliot looked, he saw a black clad form of another figure against the fourth story window, held up by a rope and a harness. With surprise, Eliot realized two things at once: this was a thief, who’d chosen this unlucky time as his time to break into the place. And whatever the thief had done had drawn the thugs away from him, stealing their attention.

“Cut the line!”

Not a moment later, the flash of moonlight off a blade preceded a whisper of the cut, and the rope severed, sending the thief falling through the air. Eliot watched in shock as he hit the ground hard, a dozen yards ahead of him.

“Get him, go!”

The three thugs left the window and most likely started for the stairs.

Eliot turned instinctively to run, but a whisper of the conscience he didn’t even remember he still _had_ tugged him toward the thief. 

The thief didn’t move from where he fell; he must be unconscious or dead. If he was unconscious, though…

Eliot had a pretty good idea of what those thugs would do to him.

Eliot froze in that half a moment, caught in conflict.

But finally, he turned toward the thief, running across the dark asphalt. The man saved him, whether or not the man knew he did. And Eliot’s chase through the building ruined his heist. Eliot didn’t have to run through the building; it was just the best option. And it might have killed this man.

_And I left Moreau to wash the blood off my hands._

More and more and more.

Eliot shook himself, approaching the thief cautiously. But he didn’t move. Knowing he had little time before the thugs made it here, Eliot bent at his side. “Hey,” said Eliot gruffly. He cautiously put a hand on the thief’s shoulder, noting with surprise that this was a very small man. Perhaps a teenager?

But when he turned him carefully, Eliot’s breath caught.

It was no man.

It was a young woman.

Blond hair spilled out of a hood that fell back. Her face screamed of youth. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she wasn’t even twenty.

Eliot’s chest caught.

 _Shit, please don’t be dead_.

Eliot reached two fingers to her neck, feeling with a heavy heart. 

But a steady pulse beat back at him.

She was alive.

_Thank god._

The pressure of his clock beat in his own chest, and Eliot looked over his shoulder, but the thugs hadn’t made it out of the building yet. He looked back to the woman-- _girl_. “Hey, darlin,” he whispered. He wanted so badly to shake her awake, make sure she was really all right, but with a three-story fall? Anything could be broken. 

_Though it’s chance moving her now, or let the thugs find her_.

And Eliot may not have heard his conscience in quite a while, but it was _screaming_ now.

“All right,” said Eliot gruffly, giving a silent apology to his throbbing injuries. “I don’t know if you can hear me, darlin,” he said carefully, reaching his other hand _very cautiously_ toward her knees. “I’m gonna pick you up. I’m not gonna hurt you.” There was no response, and Eliot wasn’t sure if he was happy about that. So, just as slowly, he reached one arm around her back and the other around her knees. He slowly and carefully lifted her, hoping she didn’t have a spinal break that would kill her if he moved her wrong. But it’s move now or leave her to the thugs.

Eliot bit down on his fear for the girl-- _who had no place on the side of this building, making him wonder just what got someone with a baby face like that into this kind of business_ \--and he lifted her.

He was half afraid she’d wake when he did, but she didn’t. The blond hair spilled over his arm. Eliot held her tightly, standing back up. He bit back a groan as her weight pressed and angered his broken ribs. Eliot staggered a little on his injured leg.

“Get the door open, now!”

Eliot whipped his head behind him. That shout came from a thug from inside the building. Inside, but not far.

Eliot ran.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to run with a passenger, as he’d spent far too many nights in a warlit neighborhood helping carry injured civilians to safety. So it wasn’t as if it were _new_ , but it wasn’t his favorite thing to do. _Especially not with broken ribs and whatever the hell was wrong with his leg_.

Eliot ran down the first alleyway he found, hearing the door to the building crash open, and escaped into the blackness of night.

The only cape he wore willingly.

* * *

Being in the heart of Amsterdam was a blessing and a curse.

A blessing, for there were plenty of connecting alleyways and dark patches to shroud his run that it was easy to get lost in the maze, and lose the thugs behind him.

But a curse, for even if he lost _them_ , he was still majorly lost himself.

Eliot ran until his chest burned and his breath was too labored to keep silent. He stopped down one of the thousands of alleyways, slowly lowering the thief to the ground to catch his own breath. He slid down the wall unceremoniously, groaning as whatever was wrong with his leg decided it didn’t like that movement.

It was too dark and too dangerous to spend time here finding out what was wrong, so he’d file that question away and deal with it later.

He looked to the girl, who was visible in the sliver of moonlight from overhead. Her eyes were still shut, and she didn’t move except for the rhythmic motion of her chest and shoulders, the only show that she was even still alive.

Eliot blinked heavily, rubbing at exhausted eyes. _When was the last time he slept_ ? Two days ago? Three? _Years_ since he slept properly. It seemed that with every year he grew older, his nightly sleep cycle grew younger. He couldn’t sleep more than four hours a night without being torn awake by a slight sound in the real world or a scream in a nightmare.

He just needed to find a place to hide out for the night. Somewhere safe. 

Well, somewhere saf _er_.

Eliot grudgingly and painfully pulled himself back to his feet, stumbling with fatigue. Biting down a curse, he lifted the girl back into his arms. And he started running.

The Eliot he was a year ago, working alongside Moreau, wouldn’t have carried this girl. He would have shut down that conscience with a shot to the head. For so long, he’d felt nothing.

And the time since, he felt… something, come back. Or, maybe it didn’t come back for him. Maybe he got out to find _it_.

But for whatever reason, seeing this girl, _in this world_ , bothered him.

It more than bothered him.

It _something’d_ him.

He didn’t quite know what that something was.

Maybe he was going soft. 

Or maybe she reminded him of the innocence he once had. The same innocence that had no business in this world. 

But he shook off the wonderment and decided to show his conscience some mercy.

So he kept running.

And held her just a little tighter.


	2. Chapter 2

It was perhaps another hour later until he reached the outskirts of the city.

Here the buildings had spaced out, the streets had calmed down, the life had slowed. There were a few rundown, rural parts of the city out here. 

Eliot’s footsteps had slowed considerably, and he’d begun to stumble every few steps. He blinked hard against the nearly-full moon, and found what he’d been searching for.

There was a house atop a hill ahead, standing in all its glory in the moonlight. It looked as if it’d been abandoned for years. 

_That’ll do_.

Eliot carried the girl with him up the hill-- _making him nearly collapse under the heat in his leg_ \--and he passed the house, which had enough broken windows and eroded wood that told him even the looters were through with it. And instead, _just in case they weren’t_ , he headed toward the shed behind.

It wasn’t big, but it was perfect. Far from the city and civilization, and in a part of it that had been given up on. No mailmen, no meter readers, no joggers. He could rest. 

Eliot awkwardly kicked open the door.

It was looted just like the house. There wasn’t anything that wasn’t made of wood inside, and it stank of must. But at least they’d be safe.

 _They_.

Eliot carefully put down the girl, leaning her carefully in the corner of the room. He sat back on his heels, wondering if she’d wake by the movement, but she didn’t.

Eliot sighed.

Too tired to realize that this was the first time in years he was in the immediate presence of someone who wasn’t planning to kill him, _or vice versa_. 

Eliot watched her a moment longer, then, he promptly sat back in his own corner of the shed, let his eyes shut, and passed out.

* * *

Sunlight slowly pulled Eliot awake. 

He cringed at the brightness and his pounding headache. Everything felt stiff and sore. He blinked, the inside of the shed coming back into view.

His position in the corner did _not_ help with any of his aches and pains— _most of which did not belong in his twenty-five year old body_ —but Eliot tried to ignore it. Because memories came back, muddy and dark, but enough to remind him that he didn’t spend the night here alone. 

Part of him wondered, as he shifted his gaze from the window to the corner where he left her, if she’d still be there. Or if she’d woken in the night and left herself. 

But she was still where he left her. 

A little worried, now, at how badly injured she was, Eliot blinked again, clearing his head a bit more. He picked himself off the ground, hissing as his leg throbbed sharply of what was probably a stab wound, vaguely remembering seeing the flash of moonlight off a blade during his chase with the thugs. He ignored it, planning to sterilize and wrap it later, and instead carefully knelt beside the girl. 

In the proper light of the morning, he could see her clearer. If possible, she looked even _younger_ in the sun than in the moonlight. If she was older than twenty, she was only just. 

But he could see her shoulders shift with each breath. 

Carefully, Eliot asked, “Hey, darlin. Can you hear me?”

When he didn’t get a response, he sighed. So, _very_ carefully, he put a hand on her shoulder, and gave a little shake. 

It took a bit of movement to get a response. And when he did, it was an almost petulant, “ _Mmmmm_ ,” as if she were a child being woken during a good dream. But the groan held a touch of pain, and it kneaded Eliot’s brow. 

“Darlin…” he said softly, watching her move her head to the side of the wall, but her eyes still remain closed. “Can you hear me?”

 _That_ she heard. 

He felt it first through his touch—his hand on her shoulder. Her muscles went rigid. As if some panic lit her body in an instant. Her eyes snapped open, and she was suddenly staring directly at him. 

Eliot let out a little breath. “Nice ta see you awa—“ He didn’t get a chance to finish before a small fist sank into his stomach. 

_Right over those cracked ribs_.

And _damn_ she was stronger than she looked. 

Eliot recoiled in surprise, and doubled over as pain lit up in his abdomen. He held an arm tight to them, looking back through a grimace as the girl scrabbled to get to her feet. She took one step to stand, then collapsed with a sharp cry.

_Her leg._

The girl clutched her knee, breathing shortly. And from where she was lying now, Eliot could see dark crimson stain her blond hair.

His own pain temporarily forgotten, Eliot got back to his knees. The moment he did, her eyes flicked to him. She froze, eyes locked onto his. They searched him for a moment, and panic jumped back into them. Her gaze jumped around the shed, and she looked just short of terrified. 

Eliot has seen that look.

For years it was the only look he’d ever received from anyone. 

_Including the mirror._

It was the look of someone who not only feared, but someone who’d gone through hell enough to _know_ it should be feared. 

So he slowly lifted his hands into the air and backed away from her. She watched him carefully. He swallowed. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently. But when the panic in her eyes only deepened, he realized with a cold heart that _she’s heard those words before_. 

Eliot backed up until he hit the wall across from her. Slowly, he stood, and he opened the door. Cool morning air blew in. He watched her eyes dart to it. Eliot sat back in the corner, away from the door. “Door’s open, darlin,” he told her. “If ya wanna leave, you can leave. I’m not goin’ to hurt you.” 

She blinked at him, and then at the door, and then back at him. Then, in one quick move she was pushing herself upright, carefully not using her injured leg. But the moment she was upright, she swayed, and fell back into the wall, barely catching herself. 

Eliot was back on his feet before he thought to. “Woah,” he breathed, rushing to catch her before she fell, but he held himself back. She clawed to stay upright, but even from across the room, Eliot could see uneven pupils. “I think you’ve got yourself a head injury, there, darlin,” he said carefully. 

She tried to take a step forward toward the door, but lost her balance and fell to her good knee. She blinked quickly, more fear in her eyes. 

Eliot bent back to her level, trying to stay put. “Are you all right?” When she didn’t answer, just stared at him, Eliot suddenly wondered if she spoke fluent English. But he went ahead anyway, hoping dulcet tones would convey that he wasn’t a bad guy. 

_Well…_

“My name’s Eliot,” he said softly. “I was being chased by the thugs that cut your line.” Her eyes widened a little, like she was surprised he knew what had happened. _So, she speaks English._ “I saw you fall. I didn’t want those men to hurt you. So I carried you here.” When she still said nothing, Eliot continued, “You can go whenever you want. I’m not tryin’ to keep you here, and I swear I won’t hurt you. But if you wanted to stay just a little bit,” he added, “I know a thing or two about injuries. I’d like to help make sure you’re okay.”

She didn’t move. Just stared. 

But he watched his words register in her eyes. She understood him. 

She still didn’t necessarily _believe_ him, though. 

Eliot stayed where he was. Any movement might make her think he was lying and scare her. He couldn’t help thinking of her like a wounded animal, hurt from a life of trusting the wrong people.

He didn’t know how long he sat still. Long enough that he was beginning to get hungry. But she was still watching him, so he made a point to look out the broken window as if not a care in the world.

It had to have been at least an hour before she moved. 

Eliot fought not to look at her even as he heard her shift position, trying again not to make her feel as if he’d simply been waiting for her trust. So, instead, he closed his eyes. Savored in the most rest he’s gotten in a long time. 

She was still making noise, moving, doing something. Eliot didn’t react to it. He heard her shifting closer, and after a moment—with a twinge of sadness—he realized she was trying for the door. 

As he heard her near, he kept himself still and his eyes closed. It sounded like she was crawling. She suddenly let out a little yelp, and Eliot’s eye cracked open, to see her two feet away from him, nearly in the doorway, clutching her knee. Eliot forced himself not to react, closed his eyes once again, and waited. 

She eventually began crawling again, and he listened until she passed through the doorway. He opened his eyes to the empty shed. He was surprised at his disappointment. He supposed he ought to have been happy that she felt well enough to leave. But… 

He couldn’t help worrying what would happen to her out in the world with injuries like that. _Especially untreated injuries_.

But he forced himself to stay put. If he went after her, it would only reinforce her fear that he’d been lying. 

So he closed his eyes and he eventually drifted. 

* * *

The shed was brighter when he opened his eyes, pulled from a rough sleep. Only a few hours have passed, if that. 

The shed was still empty. 

Eliot sighed. 

Feeling even more hungry, he stood, cringing as the pain in his leg woke as well, and he looked down. 

_That explains it_.

Not only did he suffer a knife wound last night, _the damn thing was still in his leg_. The hilt stood out of his jeans, like a morbid accessory. 

Bracing himself, Eliot grabbed the hilt and pulled. 

He couldn’t help a hiss. But, his leg was free from the knife. Blood dropped from the blade to the ground. It was a small blade, but even so, he’d want to find some sort of stitches somewhere. 

But first, he needed food. 

A dark and hazy memory of the surroundings showed a forest, and that meant there was at least the prospect of something edible. 

Eliot retrieved his jacket from the ground and slipped it on, walking stiffly out of the shed, limping a bit on his bad leg. The entire area was still bare; just grass and bush and trees. Not even the rumble of a car engine. 

Good. 

Eliot made his way slowly to the forest, and within half an hour, had scrounged up a few handfuls of berries. He filled his pockets with more. He wasn’t about to make himself walk back out here a second time. He found a nice safe place to hide out for a while; he could rest and he could heal.

At least physically. 

Eliot made his way, again slowly, back to the shed. But a small noise made him freeze. 

It almost sounded like an animal. A high pitched sort of _whine_. 

It was coming from off to his left. 

Eliot turned, seeing a line of thick bushes. He wasn’t a fan of killing wild game, but he didn’t know how long it would be until he found some real food. _And_ he was absolutely broke. Plus, killing an injured animal felt far better than a healthy one.

So, he grabbed the bloodstained knife from his waistband and he slowly approached the bush, prepared to find an injured squirrel.

But when he saw the blond hair through the twigs, he nearly dropped the knife. 

It was the girl.

Eliot sank to his knees. There she was, curled up in the middle of the bushes. She was hugging both her knees to her chest, and she was crying quietly. Her breath caught when she noticed him and she hugged her knees tighter. 

It didn’t take him long to figure out _she tried to leave but couldn’t_.

“Darlin…” he whispered.

She blinked. Another tear fell.

Eliot was just trying to figure out what to say when she spoke.

“ _Hurts_.”

It was slightly slurred and choked out. She looked at him warily, like she was torn between the pain and her fear of trusting a stranger. 

“I know,” he said softly. “You took quite the fall.” He hesitated. “Do you know your name?” he asked tentatively. 

She didn’t say anything. 

But Eliot wasn’t sure if she didn’t remember or if she didn’t want him to know. 

When it was clear he wasn’t getting a name, he decided to let it go. Awkwardly, Eliot said. “That’s all right.” 

“Hurts,” she said again, and Eliot felt himself relax the slightest bit; that was asking for help if he’s ever heard it. 

“All right, darlin,” he said softly. “I’d like to help you back to the shed. It’s going to get cold out here soon, and I can help your injuries feel better.” At her uncertainty, he said, “The door will always be open. I can set you down next to it.” When there was still the slightest hesitance, he shifted with a cringe, and gestured to the blood on his jeans. “I’m hurt too. I can’t run after you, even if I wanted to. If you decide to leave, I’m not gonna follow.”

He’s run with stab wounds— _and bullet wounds_ —before, and this was a minor injury at most, but he didn’t need her to know that.

Slowly— _ever so slowly_ —she nodded her head. Then winced with a little cry. 

“Shh,” he said softly. “Don’t move your head.” He started to move toward her, then stopped. “I… I can carry you. Or would you rather come yourself?”

She blinked. “Can’t walk,” she whispered. 

Eliot nodded. “Okay. I’m going to come pick you up, okay?”

She nodded again, before remembering she shouldn’t. She screwed her eyes shut. 

Eliot couldn’t help feeling awful for ruining her theft last night. 

But slowly, he pushed the twigs out of the way and as gently as possible, put one hand on her shoulder. She tensed as he did. He left his hand there, not grabbing, not holding, just resting. 

“I’m going to pick you up,” he warned her gently. “You tell me if you want me to stop, all right?”

Again, she nodded. Again, she winced. 

Feeling like he was handling an explosive, Eliot slowly moved closer, and slid his other arm around her body. She was rigid as rock, and trembling. “ _Stop_ ,” she said immediately, and Eliot let her go instantly, holding his hands out in front of her. 

She stared at him for a long moment, and Eliot wondered if she had simply wanted to test his word. 

“Can I try again?” he asked patiently, to her very, _very_ minute nod. 

Eliot slipped his arm around her legs, careful of her knee, and his other around her back, and then he lifted her. 

He stood. Looking at her, he said, “This okay?”

She looked at him, almost confusedly. As if she wasn’t used to being asked such a thing. She went to nod, but Eliot said, “Remember not to move your head. Talk yes or no.”

“Yes,” she said, very quietly. 

Eliot gave her a tiny smile. “Okay, I’m gonna walk now. All right?”

“Yeah,” she said, just as quietly. 

He began to walk, limping on his bad leg, and he felt her jerk a little in his arms. He softened his fingers, making it clear she could roll free from his grip if she wanted to. 

He walked back into the shed, and carefully set her down in the corner he’d been in, right beside the door. He stood the door open. Then he knelt back down next to her. “Can I check your injuries?” 

“...Why?” came the whispered answer so small he almost didn’t hear it. It was quiet, but loaded with fearful suspicion.

“From what I can see,” said Eliot gently, “you’ve either sprained or broken your knee. And there’s blood on the back of your head,” he said, making her eyes widen just a little, “so I’m worried you have a cut that might get infected if it’s not treated properly.” Even gentler, he added, “And if the world is all… _jumbled_ ,” he said slowly, and she widened her eyes even more like she believed he’d read her mind, “you might have a concussion.”

She swallowed a little. “Is that bad?”

Having more than his share of concussions, Eliot couldn’t help a little smile. “Sometimes it can be. I’ve had a lot. But you were able to stand pretty quick and pretty level earlier. You’re pretty coherent. I don’t think it’s somethin’ we gotta worry about.” As an afterthought, Eliot asked, “How many of me do you see?”

Her eyes widened even _more_. “There are more of you?” Her eyes darted over his shoulder, as if looking for clones of him. 

Eliot simply stared, blinking in confused shock.

_What?_

He shook himself. “Nevermind. All I’m sayin’ is that I need to get a closer look to see how hurt ya are.”

Her brows furrowed together in apprehension. But after a moment, she gave another very tiny nod, wincing the smallest bit.

“I’m going to look at your knee,” he said. He slowly reached for it, pressing gentle fingers over the joint. She jerked with a gasp when he hit a tender spot. He pulled his fingers away. “Sorry, darlin,” he said sincerely. “It’s not broken; just looks like a sprain. It’ll hurt for a while, but it’ll heal.” He lifted his gaze. “I’m gonna take a quick look at your head, all right?” When she went to nod, he quickly and gently took her chin on reflex, stopping her from nodding. Her eyes widened a little, and he let go, saying, “Remember not to move your head so it doesn’t hurt, darlin.” She seemed to relax a little at the realization that he grabbed her to _prevent_ causing her pain, and Eliot smiled just a little. “Let’s see. Where does it hurt the most?” he asked.

She hesitated as she thought about it for a moment, then she lifted her hand to the back of her head. When her fingers touched it, her eyes screwed shut and she tore her hand away. Eliot felt a wash of pity. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly. He shifted to look around her and get a glimpse.

He saw the part of her hair that was red with blood, what he’d noticed earlier. The sight of it instantly sped his heart, but it wasn’t much. The blood was dried, and it hadn’t bled a lot. For a head wound especially, that was a good sign. Her knee must have taken the brunt of her fall - _it’s pure luck it hadn’t broken_ \- and her head probably hit the ground next, with far less of an impact. Still, if this was the extent of her injuries from such a fall, she either had someone watching over her or she had the grace and vitality of a cat.

“I’m going to move your hair a little,” he told her gently, not moving toward her until she looked at him. “Just to see better. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, very quietly. But he could still see every tendon standing taut in her arms and neck.

He breathed out, willing himself to be tender. As gently as possible, he shifted her hair, finding a little bump and small cut toward her ear. He pressed a little to get a gauge for any fractures, but when she only gasped a little, he settled himself with a bruise and cut that would heal in a matter of time. The cut was still open, which posed an infection threat, but she wasn’t in any sort of critical condition, and for that he was glad.

It felt… good, somehow, to touch someone gently. He watched his own hands as he moved her hair back in place, flashing back to when they punched, stabbed, strangled, only months beforehand. 

He pulled them back away from her quickly, almost as if afraid they’d act of their own will.

He found her watching him carefully. Eliot shook himself. 

“You’re going to be just fine.” he told her, sitting back on his heel. “The only thing I’m a little worried about is that cut on your head; we should get it properly bandaged and cleaned to prevent an infection.” Antibiotics actually wasn’t a bad idea for his own cut in his leg. Eliot stood. “I can go check the house,” he said, gesturing toward where it was outside. “There might be some supplies we can use.” When she just stared at him, still saying nothing, Eliot said, “...All right. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, he left.

* * *

The house was completely empty.

There was no furniture left over except for a broken and rotted chair. All the cabinets and closets had been looted, to his expectation, and his last hope of there being running water was dashed as he turned a faucet to no avail.

He headed back to the shed, sighing. The last thing one of them needed was an infection. Too many times had he been stupid and underestimated a minor open wound, only to have it nearly take a limb. 

They were going to have to get supplies _somewhere_.

And it wasn’t exactly smart to stay in one place too long; he wasn’t sure how motivated those thugs from last night were.

When he was a few yards from the open door, Eliot slowed, calling out, “I’m back, darlin.” He didn’t receive a response but he didn’t expect to get one. He walked slowly toward the door, carefully peeking in, wondering if he’d even find her still there.

She was.

She was right where he left her. She watched him carefully. Eliot slowly walked in and took his seat in the corner across from the room, keeping as much distance between them as possible. He watched something change in her eyes - a little ease on the suspicion. And maybe, the _slightest_ possible speck of _trust_. 

But it was gone as quickly as it came, heavily guarded behind brown eyes.

“The house was empty,” he told her, getting used to talking to himself, practically, as she remained quiet. “We do really need to get you patched up properly, though,” he said softly. “So we’ll have to go into town and get some things from a pharmacy. I can get us some food, too.” He himself had no money, and he doubted she did either. Unfortunately that meant he’d have to steal. _His mama would be disappointed_.

But considering the arsenal of things he’s done since he left home behind, he knew with a cold and sinking heart that she’d be far more than _disappointed_.

Eliot shook himself, continuing, “Besides; we shouldn’t stay in one place too long. We’ll go once it’s dark.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Eliot sighed. His stomach panged painfully with the thought of food. He could at least get them something to hold them over. “I can get us something to eat from the forest, though,” he told her. He reached for where he left the knife, but it wasn’t there. A look showed the entire floor empty. It took another second to realize where it went. _She really is a thief_. Followed by a more disheartening thought of, _she still doesn’t trust me._

But for someone with that haunted look in her eyes, he doubted he’d ever receive her trust, no matter what he did.

But she was still here. That was something.

The knife made her feel safe. She was hiding it somewhere, and the upperhand she felt she had also made her feel safe. So, he’d let her have it. 

He stood, looking at her to see her more rigid than ever before, as if she knew exactly what he’d just realized. But he just smiled, and said, “Be right back, darlin.” 

And he left her alone.

* * *

Eliot had spent more time than he’d have liked imprisoned, and he knew well enough to _never_ trust what a captor offers to you as food. There’d been times when he’d been too hungry to be cautious, only to end up digesting a cocktail of drugs. 

So when he returned an hour later with a handful of berries and other fruits, he set them all on the ground beside the girl.

She’d had her one leg pulled in tight to her chest, and was watching him as rigid as ever. She looked down at the mess of food on the ground, then back at him. He could see the hunger in her eyes, but the caution shined brighter than anything.

Eliot sat back on his heel, saying, “It’s just fruit, I promise. I didn’t do anything to it.” When her expression remained the same, he said, “You can pick out whatever you want from there, and I’ll eat whatever you choose.” With most of the berries looking exactly alike, and allowing her to choose whatever she wanted to make him eat, she could know with near perfect certainty that it would be safe for her to eat as well.

He saw a little shift in her expression. Again, looking like she was very unused to being asked to do things that made her feel safe. Something that tugged painfully somewhere in his chest to see. 

Slowly, _ever so slowly_ , she flicked her eyes to the food. Then, she removed her hand from around her knee, and she picked up a few berries at random from the pile, and one of the pears. She set them to the side, drew her hand back, and looked at him expectantly.

So, Eliot took the handful, moved back to his corner of the shed, and ate them.

She waited, watching him carefully, until he was done. When she just kept staring, Eliot leaned his head back against the wall and looked out the open door, watching the sunset paint reds and oranges across the sky.

She must have been waiting to see if he was going to keel over, because it was at least an hour or two before she relented. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her cautiously and slowly lift her hand from around her knee, and take one of the small berries. She stared at it, sniffed it, licked it. Flicked her eyes to him, then... she ate. It wasn’t long before she was finishing the rest of it. Eliot had his own share when he was foraging them, so he left her plenty.

Eliot felt a little smile grace his lips as she trusted the food. Because she wasn’t just trusting the food. She was trusting _him._

The smile faltered a little, as the terrified faces of his victims-- _how he hated calling them that, but that was exactly what they were_ \--flashed to his mind. 

He shut his eyes, trying to will away the images, and focus on the tiny sound of the girl picking up the berries one by one.


	3. Chapter 3

They waited in silence for night to fall.

Once it did, Eliot looked at the girl. She was already staring at him. He may have had the slightest bit of trust from her, but was it ever fleeting.

“All right, darlin,” he said, standing. “We should go and find a pharmacy. By the time we make it to town we won’t have long, so we should get going now.”

She blinked at him, saying nothing.

“It’s a long walk,” said Eliot with a sigh, already not looking forward to it on his leg, “and I’m not sure your knee isn’t up to walking just yet. I can carry you.”

She tensed a little at that, then after a moment, she uncurled a little, getting her foot under her. She pushed to stand.

With a sharp gasp, she fell back down, clutching her knee. Eliot forced himself to stay where he was. As gently as he could, he knelt carefully back down, wincing a little as he angered his stab wound, and he said, “Please. I just want to help.”

She lifted her eyes to his, and he could see the mix of fear and pain. After a long moment, she moved to nod, then stopped herself, and said very quietly, “...Okay.”

Eliot smiled. “All right. Have you ever had a piggyback ride, darlin?”

When her eyebrows kneaded together, he felt a wash of pity. Not only did it seem that she didn’t have one as a child, _she didn’t even know what those words meant_. So, he explained, “It’s somethin’ I used to do with my little brother all the time. A piggyback ride just means I carry you on my back and walk you around. Almost like you’re riding me,” he added with a wince at the awkward way it came out.

But it seemed to work. She let out a little snort of laughter. Eliot’s brows shot up, surprised to hear it. But, again, it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“Here,” he said, turning so his back was facing her. “Just put your hands on my shoulders, and lean against my back.” He waited, but nothing happened. So, he turned his head back to face her, seeing deep-seated fear in her eyes. He knew why.

He was asking her to touch him, and from what he’s learned about her over the course of the day, that wasn’t something that’s ever gone well in her life.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently, _honestly_. The look in her eyes didn’t change. “I promise you, darlin. I will not hurt you.” Still, her expression was fixed in place. He sighed. He turned his face back around, staring at the starlit sky, trying to think of a way he could absolutely prove to her that she could trust him. But just when he came up short, he felt something on his shoulder.

Something brushed against his right shoulder, as light as a breeze from the wind. He forced himself not to react. He stayed as still as he could, and waited. Finally, he felt it again. It was just one finger. She…

 _Poked_ him.

Eliot’s brows kneaded at the strangeness of it, but still forced himself to stay put. 

It was another long moment before he felt more than one finger. She rested her hand on his shoulder, keeping it there. Eliot didn’t move. She left it there for a while, like she was _testing_ it. Eliot barely breathed, feeling like he was trying not to spook a deer. But quicker than the first hand, the second hand came, resting on his other shoulder. Through the touch, he felt her fingers shake.

And it felt… it felt like… like _relief_ to him. The last time he was touched, it was a fight. For years, his only touch was either the intention or the result of violence. An emotion that had been buried somewhere deep, deep in his bones suddenly rose up, bringing him a sort of warmth he hasn’t felt in what felt like forever.

She stayed like that, her hands on his shoulders, for long enough that he realized that was as far as she was going to go. So, feeling like he was handling the most breakable glass in the world, Eliot said softly, “Is this all right, darlin?”

A hesitation. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t take her hands away. So Eliot took that as a _yes_. 

“I’m going to move, all right?” he told her, and he felt her hands tighten the smallest bit on his shoulders. But they still remained where they were. “I’m going to stand a little, okay?” When he again received no response, but her hands were still on his shoulders, he began to rise a little. When he was as far up as he could be in this position, Eliot said, “The way a piggyback ride works is for me to take my arms and put them around the back of your knees so I can hold you up--I’ll be careful with your hurt one, I promise.” When she still didn’t say anything, Eliot went on, “I’m going to stand, but as I do, you’ll have to lean against me. You just tell me to stop if you want me to stop.”

So, very, _very_ , slowly, Eliot began to stand. He looked back a bit, and as slowly as possible, he curled his arms behind her knees as he pulled her up off the ground. Doing so brought her to lean against him, and the moment she did, she was more rigid than ever, and her fingers dug painfully into his shoulders. Eliot gasped a little, because _damn that hurt_. But he kept rising to his full height, pulling her knees forward, being careful with her bad one. He could feel her heart racing against his back.

He stopped when he was standing, tilting his head toward her, saying, “Is this all right?”

A little swallow. Then, “...Y-Yeah.”

Eliot smiled to himself.

“All right, then,” he said. “Are my arms around you too tight? I can loosen my grip if you want.”

A little hesitation, then, “No.”

Eliot let out a breath. “Okay. Just let me know if you want me to loosen it, or if you want me to put you down.”

“...Okay.”

“I’m going to start walking now, okay?” he warned her, and she only tightened her grip on his shoulders a little. 

So, he started.

Just as he expected, it was hell walking on his leg. The wound was in a bad place, irritating itself with every step, but it wasn’t something that would stand in his way. The girl was very light, for which he was silently grateful. The pain in his ribs sparked up, but they weren’t broken, just cracked. It was manageable.

Last night was a dark blur, and the town wasn’t quite as far as he thought. It was a few hours before they made it to the outskirts of the city. Moonlight filtered through the darkened streets as the city slept.

She was still rigid at his back, but her fingers weren’t as painfully digging into his shoulders. Her heart was still beating fast enough to match a hummingbird’s wings, but she wasn’t trying to get down or asking him to let go. So he took that as a good sign.

He spotted the pharmacy a few hundred yards away, an international First Aid symbol glowing in the window. Once he did, he slowed his pace, still keeping to the shadows and the alleys. There weren’t many people out at this time of night, which judging by the sky, wasn’t more than two or three o’clock in the morning. This was a quieter part of town, and almost all businesses were dark and closed for the night. Including the pharmacy. From what he could see through the window, this was like the American equivalent of a corner store slash pharmacy, which made his stomach pang to see a smattering of food items on some shelves.

His back and his injured leg were beginning to feel the fatigue of not only the long journey, but the added weight of his passenger. Whom he often forgot was even still there, for how quiet she was. Which is why when Eliot had finally approached a window toward the back of the pharmacy and he moved to break it with his elbow, he nearly had a heart attack at the sound of her voice.

“What are you doing?”

Eliot almost dropped her, so startled at the break in the silence. He staggered a little, lowering his arm back to grab her behind the knee so he didn’t let her fall. “What?” he huffed, more out of the hard beating of his heart than anything.

“What are you doing?” she repeated. It was spoken with a touch of disgust.

“Breakin’ in,” said Eliot in an almost duh-like voice, irritation chasing the gentleman out of him.

“ _That’s_ how you break in?”

Eliot didn’t respond for a moment, simply stunned to silence by the sudden conversation with the otherwise mute girl. All day, she’s said barely more than one syllable at a time, and now, she’s more than happy to talk to judge his methods.

Eliot tried to compose a reply. “The door’s locked, and--”

“Then pick it.”

The almost _obvious_ way she put it, made him struggle for a response. He’s picked locks before, in a messy way, having used whatever sharp and thin objects he could find on the ground to escape some underground cell or pair of handcuffs. 

“I can’t,” he said. And just to prove it, he walked them over to the door, showing her the keypad. Past experience taught him that _kicking them sets them off_. “It’s a keypad, darlin. Can’t pick it.”

He felt her lean over his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin as she inspected the lock. She leaned back. “You can’t pick that? It’s the easiest one they could have installed.”

Eliot looked at her in shocked silence before he remembered _she’s a thief_. He felt himself smile a little as he said, “Well, if you wanna take a crack at it, be my guest, darlin.”

She moved to get off him, and he let her down carefully. She held the foot of her injured leg so it hovered an inch above the ground, and she hopped to the door. She knelt on her good knee, carefully keeping her bad leg off the ground, which must have taken quite the level of flexibility. She scanned the ground, finding the broken glass of a beer bottle and she picked it up. 

Eliot watched as she used the edge to pry open the keypad, separating the face of the keys from the door frame. Several wires showed themselves, all different colors. The girl reached her fingers, not even looking as she did some intricate work, and pulled a set of blue wires free. From where he was standing, Eliot could see the light of the keys go out.

The girl put the keypad back together, looking like it had never been touched. She looked at Eliot from her place on the ground. “They’ll think it shorted out.”

Eliot simply stared at her, his brows at his hairline.

Nonchalantly, she picked herself up, using the wall for support as she hovered her bad leg, and she turned the handle and opened the door.

 _Silence_. No alarms. No flashing lights. 

Eliot smiled at her. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that,” she said simply, hopping inside.

The smile faltered.

If he had to guess the girl’s personality over the course of today, he would have guessed timid. This was… different. _She_ was different.

_Says the Southern gentleman turned assassin._

Eliot sighed, trying to shove the feeling he’d worked so hard to get back somewhere deep back down.

Eliot followed her inside, letting the door fall closed, shutting out more than just the brisk cold of the evening behind them. 

Aisles of products stood ahead of them in the darkness, lit by the moonlight from the windows. Eliot moved toward the medical supplies, but the girl put her arm out in front of him to stop him. Not touching him, but stopping him. He looked at her with a raised brow. “Somethin’ wrong, darlin?”

She blinked. Then, pointed to the corner of the ceiling. “Security camera.” She pointed on the other side of the small building, where the cashing area was. “It’s aimed toward the cash registers, and it’s not a good enough angle to capture the whole place.” She pointed toward the middle aisles. “If you need to go there, you have to crawl so it doesn’t see you.” She squinted a little, as if thinking. “It’ll see anything more than twelve inches off the ground.”

Again, Eliot felt his brows raise.

That was an _incredibly_ helpful tip, because being caught on a security camera and shown on the local news tipped off the people who wanted him dead of his whereabouts. _Which had become a problem more than he’d like to admit_. 

A little in awe of her knowledge, Eliot simply nodded, obeying her instructions, and went _shopping_. He grabbed whatever he could carry in gauze, bandages, antibiotic creams, and rubbing alcohol. A little extra searching found him thread he could manage to use as stitches for his leg in a small sewing kit tucked on a shelf by some magazines. As an afterthought, he picked up whatever food he could fit in the remaining space in his jeans’ pockets, as well as grabbing several bottles of water. He downed the first two then and there, bringing the rest back where the girl was waiting.

He handed her a bottle, and she took it gingerly. She inspected it, twisting the cap with a raised brow, almost as if making sure the seal had still been intact. Then, she drank nearly the whole thing. Some of the food he grabbed from the shelves didn’t fit in his pockets, so he ate what he could. A rack of different foods stood in front of them, and the girl picked out her own choices and did the same. They dumped their trash in one of the trash bins in the store. It would be taken out in the morning, erasing the evidence that anything had been touched or taken. 

“Ready to go, darlin?” he asked her.

This time she was faster getting on his back. Her hands weren’t quite as timid as the last time, but she was still as rigid as she always had been. They left the building, the door swinging shut behind them. She wasn’t relaxing with him, but she was still there.

That was something, and he’d take it.


	4. Chapter 4

Exhaustion was washing over him by the time Eliot found what he was looking for. 

It was another shed, behind another vacated home. Though, this shed was _much_ smaller than the previous one. As Eliot neared it, he could see that there was a sizable hole in the roof of it, probably worn away by animals or mold or both.

Eliot peered inside.

The moonlight provided plenty of light through the hole in the roof. It was rectangular shaped, maybe just big enough for him and the girl to sit, with a few feet of space still between them. It wasn’t ideal, but at this point, he was too tired to find somewhere else. _And he’d have to hope it didn’t rain_.

But it was plenty well-lit for what he had to do, which he’d been worried about. 

Stitches in pitch black _never_ went well.

“All right, darlin,” he said, stepping inside the little space. “It’s just for tonight. I know it’s small.”

She didn’t say anything.

He carefully let her down, and she sat in one of the corners of the room. “I’ll fix you up, first.” He told her. He knelt down, pulling the supplies out of his pockets. Two rolls of gauze and bandages, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, antibiotics and two water bottles from the waistband of his jeans.

“All right,” he told her. “I’m going to need you to turn around for me,” he said carefully. 

She blinked at him a little, and just when he thought she wouldn’t, she moved. She turned so she was sideways; still able to see him. “That’s great.” He lifted the water bottle. “I’m just going to clean your cut with a little water first, okay?”

She swallowed, but didn’t say anything.

He shifted so he was behind her, and watched her muscles tighten. “I’m just going to move your hair a little,” he told her matter-of-factly, so she didn’t have to wonder what was going on where she couldn’t see. He moved it to the side, then said, “You’ll feel a little water. Okay?”  
“Okay.”

He poured a little of the water over the cut, and took some gauze, telling her what to expect to feel. He started cleaning it, hearing her only elicit a tiny gasp as he touched a tender spot. Once he was done, he winced to himself as he picked up the alcohol. “All right, I’m going to be honest with you; this is going to hurt a bit. It’s just alcohol, so that your cut doesn’t get infected.”

She stiffened even more.

He poured a good amount onto some gauze, holding it a few inches away from her wound. “Ready?” he asked her.

She didn’t respond, but tensed in apprehension. 

Slowly, Eliot pressed it to the wound. She jerked away, and Eliot gently held her shoulder to keep her in place. She didn’t fight it, however, and allowed him to clean it. The cut was small enough it wouldn’t need stitches, which was good; stitches always hurt, but head stitches were something else entirely. It wasn’t long before he had the wound bandaged with the antibiotic cream, all good as new. 

Eliot shifted himself backward, facing her. “All better,” he told her with a genuine smile. 

The girl blinked at him.

“Last thing,” said Eliot, pulling a good amount of the bandaging off the roll. “We can use this as a makeshift pressure bandage for your knee; it makes it so that you don’t move it as easily so it can heal quicker.” He handed it to her, and she simply stared at it. “You can do it yourself. Just wrap it around your knee pretty tightly.”

She didn’t take it, and instead looked up at him. Furrowed her brows. She stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Why are you helping me?”

Eliot blinked. 

_Because I needed to prove that I can do more than hurt people._

“Because…” He hesitated. “Because you needed help.”

She just blinked back at him. 

“And…” He shifted, the guilt returning. “I feel bad about ruinin’ your job.”

“Job?” she repeated. Brows furrowed more. “I wasn’t on a job.”

“What?” His own brows creased. “Then what were you doin’ on the side of a ten story building?”

She shrugged. “Testing a rig.”

Eliot’s brow shifted higher. “On a… shouldn’t you test it on somethin’ less dangerous?”

She snorted. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Eliot just stared. 

_There might be something wrong with her._

She then set to work wrapping her knee, and when she was done, Eliot sighed. “My turn. The fun part,” he muttered. Without the use of the knife, Eliot simply grabbed the edges of the tear in his pants over the wound, and ripped it a little bigger so he could get a look at the wound. Then, he proceeded to clean it the same way he cleaned the girl’s wound. She watched him closely, almost hawk-like. 

Once clean, he reached into his pocket for the one supply he didn’t take out yet; the sewing box. He pulled it out and opened it, then stared at it, puzzled.

The needle was missing.

He stared at it with a raised brow, _knowing_ he saw a needle inside when he took it. _Specifically_ making sure there was a needle in it.

 _How…_?

But as he reached back into his pocket in case it fell out somehow, the girl extended her hand.

And between two fingers, was the needle.

Eliot looked from it, to her face. 

And her eyes that only stared at the floor.

It took him a moment to realize what happened. 

She’d _stolen_ it. 

But that wasn’t what absolutely stunned him.

Somewhere along the walk from the pharmacy to here, she somehow managed to _reach in his pocket_ , _take out the box,_ _take out the needle_ , _and_ _return the box to his pocket_.

Without him feeling a _thing_.

He simply stared at her in shock, trying to wrap his mind around how that was even _possible._

When the silence extended, her eyes slowly flicked to his, then back to the ground, almost fearfully.

Eliot couldn’t help himself.

He laughed.

That made her look up in surprise, almost as if she was expecting him to be angry. Eliot took the needle from her fingers, pulling out some thread from the box, shaking his head to himself.

He hated stitches, _especially_ when he was tired. But it had to be done. So, he sighed heavily, and reached for the alcohol.

“Can you teach me?”

Her voice once again startled him, having gotten so used to silence with her around, and he poked the sharp tip of the needle into his skin as he jerked, making him wince. He looked up, however, to see her watching him, her good knee pulled up to her chest. “What?” he asked her.

She shifted her gaze to the needle and back. “That. Can you teach me that?”

Eliot’s brows lifted. The request took him by surprise, and he stumbled through a response. “Uh, yeah--sure, darlin.” His brows kneaded. “You get cuts often?”

She shrugged a little. “Sometimes.”

That thought made him frown. “Tell ya what, darlin. I’ll teach ya how to do stitches if you teach me how you took the needle.”

And there it was - for the first time.

She _smiled_.

And _damn_ was it brighter than the moonlight outside.

Eliot smiled to himself, lifting the needle again.

“Parker.”

He looked up.

She was looking at him.

“What’s that, darlin?” he said.

“Parker,” she repeated. “That’s my name.”

Eliot froze a little, stunned once again. He stared right back, feeling himself smile. For the first time in so damn long, that warm feeling was spreading through him. A feeling other than guilt and hate and anger.

It took him a moment to compose himself.

“Well, then,” he said softly, his Southern drawl carrying the warmth of home. “It’s nice to meet ya, Parker.” 

But she didn’t quite share the same warmth in her gesture that he did, for her brows were still kneaded in confusion. “Why did you think my name was ‘Darlin’?”

Eliot held back a laugh. “I didn’t,” he said simply. “It was just a... well…” He thought for a moment how to explain it. “It’s like a nickname.”

Her brows kneaded like dough.

 _She doesn’t know what the word ‘nickname’ means_.

Eliot was given a little pause, wondering just how messed up her life had been. “A nickname is like a name you give someone,” said Eliot awkwardly, trying his best to play a dictionary. “Even to people you already know the name of. You can make up a second name for them sometimes, and ‘darlin’ is a real common nickname. Nicknames are also called pet names.”

Her brow lifted a little. She recognized that word. “You give people names of doggies?” Her brows furrowed even more. “I met a doggie named Sparky once. Can that be a nickname?”

He laughed again, the innocence radiating from her feeling like a breath of fresh air. Like a cold compress on a burning injury. “Sure it can. Nicknames can also be good placeholders for when you _don’t_ know someone’s name,” he added, giving a little understanding to her expression. “But sometimes they’re just names you give to people who are more… special. You give it to people who mean somethin’ to you.”

She frowned in thought.

He lifted the needle back up, and grabbed the rubbing alcohol. “Well,” he said, regaining her attention. “The first thing you want to do with stitches is make sure you sterilize the needle. You can use any kind of alcohol, but straight rubbin’ alcohol is your best choice.” 

Eliot continued his stitches, narrating what he was doing and why as the girl— _Parker_ —watched him intently. Afterward, Parker showed him how she stole the needle, but did so in a way that looked utterly like magic. One moment the needle was in the box, the next it wasn’t. The way she moved her fingers, however, taught Eliot that he’s been pick-pocketing with the wrong ones all this time. So, regardless, he still managed to learn _something_.

He fell asleep not long after that, and when he woke to daylight shining through the roof, he was alone.

A quick sweep of the fairly-empty surroundings outside the shed showed no sign of Parker. Nothing except a knife, stabbed in the ground outside the door of the shed. The same knife he’d been injured with, the one that she’d stolen from him earlier. 

Eliot picked it up.

_She gave it back._

One of the best thieves he’s ever seen, and one of the most cautious people he’s ever met.

And she returned his _weapon_.

Maybe it was her way of thanking him.

Maybe it was her way of saying goodbye.

But, miraculously, _somehow_ , he managed to gain the trust of someone who trusted no one. 

Eliot stared at the weapon. The pain in his leg had been what allowed the thugs to gain on him, and what had made him choose to run through the building Parker was on. 

Strange how something meant to hurt him led him to the most good for him he’s had in years.

Eliot had figured Parker would feel well enough to at least limp by today, but it felt strangely… _disappointing_ that she left. And without a goodbye. _But wasn’t that the life of a loner? Wasn’t that what he wanted_?

Something small, quiet and very deep down inside told him it wasn’t. 

But a smile crept in nonetheless as he stared at the horizon where the sun climbed higher over the trees, welcoming a new day.

Because meeting her didn’t just teach him a few tricks in thievery and sleight of hand. 

He learned that beneath the dirt, grime, _blood_ of the past few years, there was still something shining underneath. Something _good_.

And, at least he hoped, Parker learned something, too. In a lifetime of bad, there was still good. _People_ could still be good. It’s just...

Sometimes bad guys are the only good guys you get. 

Eliot started walking, leaving the shed behind, facing his life with a new perspective. A _brighter_ one. The pain in his leg was still almost as sharp as it had been the day before, but somehow today it was easier to bear. _Better_.

And maybe, _just maybe_ , his and Parker’s physical wounds weren’t the only ones that had begun to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: the end :)
> 
> Merry Christmas superfandomqueen!! I hope you liked your gift!


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